


The Last Three Days

by Blakpaw



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cancer, Death, Depression, Get ready for them feels, I probably messed up with my depiction of the sickness but this is more for feels than accuracy, M/M, One Shot, Sick Fic, corrupted hospital, it's just sad, wont give a paitent in pain morphine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 07:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10552432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blakpaw/pseuds/Blakpaw
Summary: Guilt is something Batman knows to much, but this guilt is like nothing he ever felt before. He should have listened to the Joker, heard out his begs and pleads, instead of calling him a liar and shooting him down.He should've believed the Joker when he said he was dying.





	

Day One:  
~~*~~ 

Guilt is something Batman knows to much, but this guilt is like nothing he ever felt before. He should have listened to the Joker, heard out his begs and pleads, instead of calling him a liar and shooting him down.

He should've believed the Joker when he said he was dying.

The Bat should of seen his own signs of denial sooner, but he didn’t. It all came crashing down on him in an instant, when he snuck into the Joker’s hospital room, he had convinced himself the Joker was tricking the doctors, that he was plotting something dangerous, and then he saw the clown. Alone in a bed, looking so small and frail, all bones, with a shiny bright hairless head, sunken eyes, wide awake, and a small pan full of blood next to him, wheezing as a machine forced the air into his lungs, which escaped him as his chest feel, too weak to hold it in, and obviously in pain, not a drop of morphine being put into his system. Across from the bed, in the Joker’s line of sight, there were X rays, seemingly mocking him, as the dark masses that filled his lungs were visible even from this distance, looked like they could tear through the Joker’s lungs and crack his ribs with how much space they were taking up. Bat’s had to pause as the Joker looked over at him with green eyes to dull, and slowly his pale lips pulled up into a smile, his teeth and the inside of his lips had blood on them, the whites of his eyes a sick yellow color.

He wanted to kick himself for not believing this clown when he said he’d been dying. He wanted to throw up for denying the clown his dying wish whilst he’d still been strong enough to handle it. Worst of all, he’d noted that Harley wasn’t even here to hold the clowns weak bony hands, she could threaten her way in if she wanted, and yet she was nowhere to be seen. He slowly walked into the room, about to ask where she was when the clown spoke up weakly, “She hasn’t been here….. In months…. Already mourning my death...y’ see?” his voice is soft and weak, words cutting off as air is pushed into his lungs. Bat’s felt a pang of pity for the man, month’s. For months he’d been alone, dying in a hospital bed, in agonizing pain he could only assume, and batman only now took notice of this sick little clown. Batman only just began to realize what this meant. He silently moved over to his bed side, trying to keep a straight face, somehow managing to succeed “Why aren’t you on morphine? You must be in pain.”

The clown manages a little laugh at this, Batman managed to ignore the flecks of blood that speckle the inside of the re-breather, and slowly he croaks out “You think…. After all I’ve done…. They’d let me die…. In peace?” his smile is small compared to what Batman is used to seeing, as if he’s come to terms with how he was going to die. In pain, alone, with nobody to love him and to say goodbye to him in his last moments. He wants to state how wrong that is of them, but he’s sure the Joker already knows how wrong of them it is. He doesn’t care, not anymore, if he ever did in the first place. The Joker leans his head back and closes his eyes, leaving Batman to sit in silence and listen to the sound of the re-breather pumping Joker sweet oxygen. He isn’t sure how long he’s sat there before he gently picks up the clown's hand, and hangs his head, trying to keep his voice steady and calm “I’m sorry. I should've believed you…” Joker shakes his head and laughs weakly again, despite that his weak hand grasps the Bat’s in return “I wouldn’t….. Have believed me…. Either, silly…. Bat….” it isn’t long after that the Joker falls asleep. Batman sits there for a bit longer before telling Alfred where he is, and that he won’t be coming home for a few days. He doesn't tell him why, but he tells Alfred not to look for him. He doesn’t leave all night.

Day two:  
~~*~~

Bruce wakes up to the sound of violent hacking and what sounds like vomiting, and his eyes instantly lock onto the Joker as he bolts up from the chair he’d passed out on, the clown is leaning over his bed, a metal pan in front of him as he coughs up a current of blood. Bat’s swallows down his urge to vomit as well and instead softly touches his back, asking if he’s okay, and it takes a moment, the Joker dry heaves a few times before nodding “I’m….used to it… by now.” He wheezes out softly. Bat’s grabs a small rag and gently wipes the blood from Joker’s mouth and he presses into the touch weakly. He looks to the clock and notes it’s only 5 in the morning, he’s surprised a nurse didn’t ask him to leave, or at least try to contact him. He supposes they know they can’t stop him. He rubs circles into the clown’s back as he slowly leans back and closes his eyes, his weak frame trembling with the effort of expelling the blood from his system.

Batman isn’t really sure when it happened, but eventually he ends up laying on the bed with the Joker, trying to relax him just a little bit, comfort him whilst he could, because at any moment he feels the clown’s weak frame will give in, shudder out it’s last breath and die. Eventually a nurse comes in, Bat’s moves off the bed so she can check the Joker over, she than left the room to reappear with something for the Joker to eat. She then looks up to Bruce “Do you want to help him eat?” at first he thought she was telling him she didn’t want to feed him, but he saw the pity in her eyes. She felt sorry for the Joker. He paused and nodded, she gave him a knowing look and handed him the tray, leaving them be. The process was slow, the joker having to hold the mask to his face after every bite or so, so he could fill his lungs with air. Once he was done he lay back and closed his eyes, weak, tired, and once again shaking from the effort it took him just to eat. Once again Bat’s ended up on the bed, holding his clown close.

They lay in a pregnant silence for a very long time, before he Joker spoke up “Bat’s…. Bruce…” he looked up, Batman doesn’t flinch hearing his real name, right now the Joker knowing his true identity is the least of his worries “I…. need to tell you… something…” he murmured, head resting on the broader forms shoulder as he took in a slow breath, Bat’s gently squeezes his shoulder to encourage him to keep talking, to afraid he’ll burst into tears if he opened his mouth. Joker takes in a slow gentle breath, shuffling to lean closer to his ear “I love…. You…” he’s trembling, and Bat’s buries his face in his hair, whispering in return “I love you too.” the moment is so gentle, outsiders would hear nothing but murmurs. This is a moment to keep to themselves in what little time they have left. Joker smiles and nuzzles him, a few hours later, as he’s drifting to sleep, he whispers his real name into Batman’s ear.

Day Three:  
~~*~~

They can feel it in the air on the third day. It’s going to happen. The Joker’s going to die. So they do what they can whilst they can. Not once does Batman move off the bed, holding his clown close, their lips meet soft as a first and final kiss, and it tastes like blood and death, but neither care. They spend the day telling stories, remembering what they can in what little time they have left, because they can feel it looming over the Joker’s form, the end is so close, desperate to dig it’s claws into the Joker’s thin little form and tear him away.

The night has fallen, Joker’s in Bruce’s arms on his belly, so he can look up at him and into his face, there foreheads are pressed together, he’s trembling with the effort of breath, the mask forgotten on the bed, he want’s to live his last moment independent of the machine, and maybe it’s the effort it takes to breath, maybe Bat’s hug is too tight, but the Bat watches as, all too soon, the Joker closes his eyes, takes in one last shuddering breath, and gives up, sub comes to death’s call. The next thing he knows the heart monitor is beeping, machines around the room blaring off alarms, and he moves off the bed as nurses and doctors surround the patient, and he can see some of them aren’t trying nearly hard enough to bring him back, and others are trying desperately to revive him. In the end even there best wouldn’t be enough. They announced him dead fifteen minutes after they started CPR, and one by one they leave, a few looking at the Bat, pity and sorrow in their eyes, the last one, the woman who’d he seen the other day, gives him her condolences.

The instant he’s alone he snaps, he’s on his knees, holding Joker’s hand in both of his, pressing it to his forehead, and silently letting the tears slip from him. It feels like decades before he pulls himself up, the hand gone cold in his grasp. He leans down and presses his lips to the cold, bald forehead of his life time enemy and his day long lover. He goes home,doesn’t eat despite not eating for three days, barely remembers to say hello to Alfred as he sits at the bat computer and looks up the name the Joker had given him. He learns what he can from articles, an obituary for some woman, and another for the name the Joker gave him, as they had thought him long dead. Alfred tries to prompt a reaction from him, but he can’t. It takes almost the whole day before Bruce tells him what happened, he isn’t ashamed to admit that he fell in love with the Joker, but the guilt he feels for not believing him sooner consumes him, and Alfred holds him close as he cries.

Eventually, the funeral is arranged by Harley and a few of the higher up goons, and she gets mad at him when he shows up, but he ignores her as she hits at his chest trying to get him to leave. He feels just as angry as her that the once smiling clown now lays in a coffin, and though he has his favorite purple attire on it looks incomplete. Eventually, Harley just ignores him, and cries for a while, the goons awkwardly hanging their heads in silence, only looking up as the bat walks to the coffin, and gently places something on the Joker’s chest, leaning down and murmuring something gentle and soothing to Harley. She looks up at him and hugs him gently before watching him leave into the dusk air to go to wherever his home is, before Harley stood up, looking to see what he left.

On the Joker’s chest lays a single, freshly made, batarang with a joker card design engraved into it.


End file.
